Page 124 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“What did he say to you?”

I turn to face him. “He knows about the SEC investigation. And he strongly implied our marriage is an arrangement.”

Gideon’s jaw tightens. “He’ll never be able to prove it.”

“I think I got something useful.” I tell him about Blackwell’s slip regarding future development plans for the neighborhood around the Hartman warehouses.

Gideon stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head with something like wonder. “He’s planning more developments in the area, then. You got more out of him in five minutes than my team has in weeks.”

I find myself smiling despite everything. “What can I say? He underestimated me.”

“A mistake I try not to make anymore,” Gideon murmurs.

The intensity in his gaze makes my stomach flip. For a moment, I almost believe this isn’t just business between us.

Don’t go there, Ava. Less than two months and counting, remember?

“How did it go with Preston?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Better than expected. He’s still in, for now.” Gideon runs a hand through his hair. “You want to get out of here?”

I nod, suddenly exhausted. “God, yes.”

As we walk back inside, I can’t help glancing over at Blackwell, who’s now deep in conversation with someone I don’t recognize.

Even if our marriage is temporary, I’m not letting that shark win.

Tonight, I’ve proven I can hold my own. But my hands are already itching for paintbrushes, for the solitude of my Brooklyn studio where I can process all of this on canvas, away from prying eyes and complicated feelings for a husband with an expiration date.

41

Gideon

The penthouse feels empty without her. I check my watch again. 1:07 AM.

I reach over to the side of the bed where Ava should be, my fingers finding only cool sheets. These past few weeks of sharing my bed with her have changed me in ways I didn’t anticipate. The scent of vanilla and linseed oil lingers on her pillow, but her warmth is missing.

I pick up my phone and open the security app. Two quick taps and I have her location. The Brooklyn studio. Of course. Her security detail is standing watch at the entrance.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

I consider telling them to forcefully bring her home. No, I can’t imagine she’d be very happy if I did that. There’s only one other option...

But I shouldn’t go. She’s allowed her space. Our arrangement is temporary, a fact I’ve been finding increasingly difficult to stomach. But the thought of her alone in that warehouse district at this hour twistssomething inside me. Even if she has her security detail present. I tell myself it’s just concern for my investment.

I know it’s a lie even as I think it.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing outside her studio building, having dismissed my driver with instructions to return in two hours. My security team joins hers, and they do a sweep of the perimeter before giving me clearance to enter alone. Even in my current state, I notice how the neighborhood has improved since her first visit here. The Riverside Corridor project is already changing the area.

The freight elevator groans as it carries me to the third floor. When I slide open the heavy door to her studio, the scent hits me first. Turpentine. Oil paints. Creativity made tangible.

And there she is.

Ava stands before a massive canvas, her back to me, completely unaware of my presence, totally engrossed in her work. Her black curls are piled messily atop her head, secured with what appears to be a paintbrush. She’s wearing loose gray sweatpants splattered with a rainbow of colors and a thin white tank top that’s seen better days. Even in this disheveled state, the sight of her makes my chest tighten.

For a moment, I simply watch her. Her movements are different here. Fluid, confident, uninhibited. This is Ava in her element, the artist in her natural habitat, not the woman playing at being my wife. She steps back, tilts her head critically at the canvas, then lunges forward to make a broad, decisive stroke with her brush.

“You’re a long way from the penthouse,” I say finally.

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